


Wait . . . Derek’s Back?

by i_amtheoutlaw



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Asphyxiation, BDSM, Dubious Consent, Fear, Knife Play, M/M, No Safeword, Oneshot, Pain, Rope Bondage, Sub Drop, Subspace, Teasing, asshole!stiles - Freeform, bottom!Derek, dom!stiles, fantasy rape, injections (wolfsbane), post episode 4x12, slight humiliation, slight punishment, sterek, sub!derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-18 22:27:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3586338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_amtheoutlaw/pseuds/i_amtheoutlaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Derek's what!?" asked Scott, though he sounded alarmed to hear what answer might come out of Stiles' mouth. </p><p>"He's just back, okay?" Stiles answered through gritted teeth. "He's here! Derek's here and he wants - needs me . . . me, Scott! Stiles! Derek Hale is in there waiting for one Stiles right now and I have reasons to believe that he may actually want me or something . . . and, er," Stiles paused and gestured gawkily, "this could, y'know, actually help Derek get better, too." </p><p>Scott just blinked at him for a moment then questioned, very slowly, "Stiles . . . do you have a crush on Derek Hale?"</p><p>**<br/>Derek is submissive in the bedroom and shows back up in Beacon Hills all sulky-wolf after he and Braeden abruptly stop seeing each other. Stiles thinks that he can fix Derek up again even without having perky tits and all that practical experience with men on his side.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wait . . . Derek’s Back?

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Mending That You Need](https://archiveofourown.org/works/628714) by [torakowalski](https://archiveofourown.org/users/torakowalski/pseuds/torakowalski). 



> Okeey, this is very, very loosely based on the story above. 
> 
> I wasn't supposed to be writing any sterek until this semester ended but I had some time, so . . . yes. Sterek.
> 
> Please please please let me know if you think I didn't tag right or something!! I know this can be a delicate topic and I don't want to upset anyone.

Stiles couldn't have heard that right.

After he pushed away from his desk and swirled around in his chair, Stiles leaned his elbow on his knee and ducked his head. The pen tucked behind his ear fell to the floor as Stiles tugged a hand through his greasy hair. He couldn't remember the last time he'd taken a shower. With a barely there thud, the pen hit the carpet and drowned out Malia's voice. Stiles stared at it, scooped it up, stared at it some more, and then abruptly stuck it in his mouth and began to chew. 

“Wait . . . Derek’s _back_?” asked Stiles, he realized belatedly that he was stuck contemplating the first few words Malia said and ended up missing the rest of them. 

“Yes, Stiles,” said Malia, and the annoyance in her tone practically dripped through the speaker of his phone. Stiles instantly pictured the way she had most likely rolled her eyes and absently rolled his own at the mental image. “I just said that,” Malia continued. “However, that’s not important. What’s important is that something is very wrong with him.”

“Something’s wrong with Derek?” asked Stiles and, again, he practically heard the long suffered sigh forming in Malia’s throat. Stiles continued before she could have had a chance to actually sigh out loud though. “I mean, what exactly is the matter with him, Malia?”

“He’s--” 

Malia’s voice suddenly cut off and there were sounds of shuffling before Lydia’s smooth, collected tone rang through the line.

“Stiles, I think it would be best if you just came to loft as soon as you can,” she said, firmly.

Then the line went dead and, really, Stiles couldn’t have done anything else besides thrown on some clean pants, headed to Derek’s loft, and called Scott. 

\--

Scott had somehow beaten Stiles to Derek’s building despite the head start that Stiles had purposely given himself. The freaky wolfman had probably ran all the way there, too. Stiles shrugged off his best friend’s freakiness then walked in like he owned the place and plopped down next to Scott on the couch. He looked up toward the two looming woman-like creatures and gestured for them to please get on with it. 

They did.

Derek, apparently, returned sometime between Sunday and Wednesday (after disappearing for _over a month_ with Braeden). Lydia wasn’t too sure when exactly Derek had gotten back, because when Lydia left after tidying the loft on Sunday, Derek hadn’t been there, and when she and Malia returned on Wednesday to check in the library, Derek was there and locked in the bedroom. Stiles wondered why they waited until Thursday to call, but they quickly went on before he could have questioned it. Scott was their alpha anyway, and he didn’t seem concerned. 

Derek came out once to use the bathroom and nothing was wrong with him physically it seemed, or so said Malia. Stiles wasn’t sure he was ready to have trusted her assessment of anyone’s health anytime soon. Though, both girls said that Derek seemed worn out and depressed, sure, but there weren't any new visible scars or cuts or tentacle shaped hickies or other strange oddities that might have come from the werewolf life.

"And . . . one of you can't just, y'know,” Stiles gestured between Malia and Scott, “break the door down with your super strength?" Stiles asked, because it seemed logical enough. 

Malia pondered the idea and looked as though she found it rather effective. Lydia, however, huffed and then drawled, "yes, Stiles, we _could_ do that, but I'm concerned with what we're going to do once the door has been broken down. Invite Derek out for afternoon tea, perhaps?" 

"So . . ." Stiles thought for a moment before he continued. "I suppose we should figure out what's wrong with him first, _then_ break the door down."

"I have a hunch . . ." started Lydia, after a drawn out, dramatic eye roll that Stiles found very unnecessary and a little bit rude coming from her. "That this has less to do with the supernatural and more to do with Derek's . . . _extracurricular_ activities."

"Extra . . ." Stiles trailed off and thought for a moment. Derek was back. Back, without Braeden. Who was the person he was, y'know, banging. The one he’d left with. Derek was hurt, or had been hurt? Or, Stiles supposed, it was possible that Derek was just depressed. Derek did have a rather depressing life, after all. Derek was back, depressed, and worn out. He was without Braeden and locked up in a room . . . 

Stiles looked up and found Lydia staring straight at him with a raised brow, like she was expecting that some great epiphany was seconds from falling out of his mouth, but that was just crazy because Stiles hadn’t a clue what Lydia was getting at. Crazy, amazing Lydia who always acted like Stiles was worth her time these days and sometimes even worth something in general which was creepy and _fuck_. 

It all suddenly fell into place. Out of the many, many websites he’d been to, Stiles didn’t remember which of the websites he’d read it on but he remembered reading it and that was all that mattered at the moment.

Braeden. Strong, frankly rude, and dominant Braeden who was no where in sight. Then there was Derek. Misunderstood, snarky, and secretly submissive Derek who was back. And broken. Without Braeden.

"That _bitch_!" hissed Stiles, his fists clenched at his sides suddenly. He wasn’t sure if what he was thinking happened, actually happened, but either way it didn’t really matter, because even if she hadn’t done _that_ she obviously did something else to upset Derek and, in that moment, Stiles vowed to kill her and personally spade her grave.

Lydia smirked, but she didn’t sound smug when she spoke, "came to the same conclusion as me, I believe."

"What are we gonna do?" asked Stiles, and Scott sent him a confused look, but, honestly, that wasn’t new.

Stiles ignored him. 

"I'm at a loss," replied Lydia. "Calling a service is out of the question. You know Derek doesn't take well to strangers. It would probably make things worse. We could always just wait it out."

"There is no 'waiting it out,'" hissed Stiles (which was exactly the reaction Lydia had been hoping for though she tried not to let it show, even as Stiles continued on in a way that fit perfectly with her plans). "These things just don't disappear on their own!" he shouted.

"Well, what do you suggest then, Stiles?" Lydia asked and rose one expectant brow toward him.

"Er . . ."

Stiles thought for a moment. A crazy suggestion slithered its way to the tip of his tongue as the seconds passed. It was something that Stiles hadn’t even been sure he was capable of doing. But, y’know, surely Stiles was capable of doing it better than Braeden did it. That was like, fact. Or something. Stiles liked to think that he could have, at least. He'd certainly started liking the idea of . . . of control enough. But could he honestly . . . to Derek Hale?

Well . . . Stiles wasn’t going to miss a chance at trying.

"Lemme try something really fast," said Stiles, but he was already off the couch and moving toward Derek's bedroom. When he reached the door he paused and looked back to find that the three others followed him but Lydia had stopped them a good ten feet away. Lydia nodded to him and Stiles gulped around the thick air that had suddenly clogged his throat. 

"Derek," drawled Stiles slowly, and he had to fight to keep his voice from wavering. A few moments passed in silence so Stiles tired again. "Derek," he said, this time even firmer. 

"What do you want, Stiles?" finally came Derek's esaparated reply. 

Stiles raised both eyebrows and turned to look at Lydia, who threw him an uncharacteristically hopeful smile, and gestured for him to continue. 

"That's for me to know and you to find out," Stiles said, and then he quickly cringed at the sound of his own lameness. He sounded like a bad porno. He bet Braeden never sounded like a bad porno and even if she had, she also had a lot more going for her than Stiles had going for him. Like her perky tits and actual experience at pleasuring a man - men. Lots of men probably. The skank. Stiles never realized how much he actually hated her. Though, before today, Stiles had thought that she made Derek happy . . . and if there was one thing Stiles knew about Derek, it was that he deserved to be fucking happy. 

"What?" asked Derek, and he sounded completely over his own life and Stiles cringed again as he was pulled from his thoughts. He never thought he could make Derek happy, but maybe this once he could try for Derek’s sake if nothing else. 

"Listen, Derek . . ." Stiles started and then paused and counted to five in his head. "Are you listening?" Stiles then asked.

"Yeah," came the disembodied reply.

"Good," Stiles said and nodded to himself. "Very good. Now I need you to do something for me, okay? It's important to me so I need you to listen and do exactly what I say, alright?"

There was a pause and then, "yeah, uh, okay," Derek said finally.

"Good, okay . . . I need you to get up from wherever you are and walk over here and unlock the door--"

"But--"

" _Listen,_ just listen and don’t ask questions until I'm done, okay?"

"Fine, Stiles," huffed Derek, and Stiles easily pictured the look on Derek’s face and it made him smile. 

"After you unlock the door, I need for you to walk over to the bed and make sure the sheets are folded nicely at the bottom. Then I want you to lay down with your back flat against the bed and wait there until I get back. Understand?" there was no reply for a moment so Stiles prompted, "is that okay, big guy? Do you think you can do that for me? I promise nobody besides me will come in unless you want them to, and I just want to make sure you’re okay."

"I . . . guess that’s fine, Stiles."

“So, you’ll do it then?” Stiles tried to hold the giddy tone from his voice, but he failed. 

After a moment of abstract shuffling there was a click as the door was unlocked. Stiles smiled widely. 

"Good, Derek, thanks," he said. “Now, please, do everything I asked and I’ll be right back.”

\--

Stiles and Lydia had managed to drag Scott and Malia halfway to the parking lot when the two non-humans suddenly used their super strength and stopped dead in their tracks. Lydia was forced to stop with huff and Stiles was left tugging on Scott’s arm as hard as he could have until Scott yanked his arm back and Stiles went stumbling over.

“Sorry, dude,” Scott said as he helped Stiles up from the hallway floor and brushed him off a bit. “But I wanna know what the hell is going on.”

“Me too,” Malia sneered and Stiles saw in her eyes that she was thinking about the Peter thing. Again. 

Oh well, what he was about to do was much, much worse than that. Stiles didn’t even have an excuse this time and he really didn’t care. Stiles opened his mouth to reply, but Lydia seemed to take a sick sort of pity on him today. “Stiles is about to fix Derek by giving him the best orgasm of his life. Right, Stiles?” asked Lydia calmly, but somehow it still sounded more like a threat than a question. 

“Er . . . totally, well, I mean,” Stiles paused and blushed a patchy red. “I’m going to try my best,” he added, not meeting anyone's eye. 

Scott seemed too stunned to have formed words or even facial expressions, but Malia, of course, had no such qualms. “What?” she shouted, anger lacing her very being.

“Look, its not like I’m cheating or anything,” Stiles said carefully. “Derek won’t get better without it. And besides, it’s not like we ever decided to be completely exclusive or something--”

Stiles found himself on the floor again and he could have only watched as Malia stormed off. Lydia pulled Stiles up much less gently than Scott had just a moment before and glared at Stiles as she spoke, “don’t fuck up,” she warned, and then straightened herself and drawled, “now . . . I’m going to go make sure she doesn’t tear anything important to shreds,” before she strode off in the same direction Malia went. Stiles turned toward his best friend, sighed, and waited for it.

After a few moments of awkward silence, “what the hell, dude! I thought you liked Malia?" Scott asked, incredulous. 

"I do . . . did," Stiles said. "I don't know, Scott. I do care about her, alright? I do. But I'm an asshole, you know this, and Derek . . . he's . . . Derek is . . ."

Stiles trailed off hoping that Scott would magically get it.

"Derek's what!?" asked Scott, though he sounded alarmed to hear what answer might come out of Stiles' mouth. 

"He's just back, okay?" Stiles answered through gritted teeth. "He's here! Derek's here and he wants me -- needs me . . . me, Scott! Stiles! Derek Hale is in there waiting for one Stiles right now and I have reasons to believe that he may actually want me or something . . . and, er," Stiles paused and gestured gawkily, "this could, y'know, actually help Derek get better, too." 

Scott just blinked at him for a moment then questioned, very slowly, "Stiles . . . do you have a crush on Derek Hale?"

"A crush?" asked Stiles as he mock-pondered the suggestion, knowing already what his answer would be. The truth of it was much too deep to breach, Stiles figured there wasn’t really a good way to say that one could only take so much staring before they began to grow curious. He certainly didn’t think Scott would ever understand, no matter how he explained it. "No,” Stiles started at last, “not a crush . . . a spank bank full of his Godly image? Definitely."

"Oh my God, Stiles!" squealed Scott, looking as scandalized as a cat stuck in a bathtub filled with rapidly melting ice cubes.

"You asked, dude!" Stiles pointed out as gently as he could have. He supposed it would have been kind of harsh and alarming, learning that one’s best friend occasionally wanked to Derek Hale.

"Fine," Scott said, and he shook his head vigorously as he began to back away. "I don't want to know right now as long as Derek gets better . . . but later, you will tell me why Derek was sick. You will tell me everything, Stiles!"

"Of course!" Stiles called after him, knowing that that was never going to happen unless Scott stumbled upon some veritaserum between now and then which was not likely considering, y’know, that the potion was completely fictional. 

\--

Stiles returned to Derek’s loft and instantly went to the kitchen. He figured that he needed to pamper Derek first or something like that, and it seemed that the beta hadn’t eaten in a few days so that was where Stiles started. Though he knew how to cook something better, Stiles made a sloppy PBJ because he was growing tighter in the pants with every minute that passed and he would have probably came in his jeans if he’d taken the time for box macaroni. Stiles wasn’t exactly sure if Derek knew what he was planning, but Stiles was sure the smell of his cum flooding the loft wouldn’t have helped anything. 

Stiles paused outside the door of Derek’s room and contemplated what he thought was going through Derek’s mind again. The beta had to have heard them discussing the matter, but did Derek understand what Stiles planned to do? Did he even care? Derek had always made his interest in Stiles pretty visible in the past.

The whole situation was fucked and that was so very good for some reason. Stiles ached he was so hard, but he reminded himself again that this wasn’t about him. Stiles wasn’t even going to touch his own dick or think about it or . . . well, yeah, he was going to try at least. 

Stiles opened the door and found Derek laid out flat on the bed just like Stiles had asked him to, though it looked like he hadn’t left that spot in a while anyway. Derek had on a baggy shirt and sweat pants. He looked as if he was simply recovering from a terrible hangover, which Stiles knew was impossible. Braeden had to have done something other than just broken it off with Derek to have made him look this miserable. 

As Stiles moved forward into the room, Derek’s eyes flickered from the ceiling and settled on Stiles instead. Stiles tried to find a smile even though seeing Derek’s eyes so vacant and distant was disconcerting.

“Hi,” said Stiles, as he sat the plate on Derek’s flat stomach and a glass of water on the night stand. “I made you a sandwich - er, peanut butter jelly time, big guy.” 

Derek eyed it for a long moment. “Why?” he asked eventually.

“Um . . . I don’t know?” Stiles asked, mock-confused. “Possibly because you’ve decided to freak everyone out by locking yourself in this room and not eating anything! I mean--” Stiles sighed, he really was sucking already “--I thought you would be hungry.”

“I’m not,” said Derek, and he didn’t sound stubborn, just truthful which made Stiles feel even worse for being turned on, but all the more determined. It was sooo fucked up, he knew it. He didn't really care. He knew that on some level Derek had always wanted him.

“I . . .” Stiles hadn’t a clue what to say and the silence that followed his effort was deafening.

“You’re hard,” Derek randomly said, his tone completely void of any readable emotions. He didn’t even sound curious, just flat. “Why?”

“Er . . . well, you see, I was - oh fuck it all,” Stiles groaned then sighed, loudly. Derek clearly required some cheering up, something that Stiles rarely did very well. “I don’t know if you even realize why I’m here, Derek, but fuck. Just the thought of you makes me so hard. I can’t help it,” explained Stiles, but the words made his skin itch unpleasantly. 

“Why?” Derek asked again, eyeing Stiles’ crotch - his arousal, and Stiles’ itchy skin grew hot. He fought the urge to claw at his own neck.

“Why!?” Stiles repeated, incredulous. “Because, dude! You’re so fucking - just - just Derek, okay. You’re Derek and you’re here and you’re hurting and I know I shouldn’t be but, Derek, I’m so hard for you.” There, Stiles thought, that was better. Right? It felt better for him, easier to say.

“Me?” Derek said, his brow furrowed like the idea that anyone could possibly be hard for him was unheard of. Stiles knew that it couldn’t have been though, which meant Derek was worse off than Stiles imagined. 

“Eat that,” Stiles said, pointing at the sandwich, and Derek frowned at it.

“I’m not--” 

“Derek, eat the damn sandwich,” Stiles bit out, then sighed again. 

Derek shrugged and complied. Stiles took the time to sit at the edge of the bed and pull out his phone figuring research would have definitely helped this situation. After a quick search of the term ‘sub-drop,’ Stiles had a better understanding of what he was dealing with. It told Stiles that Derek might actually be in depression if his drop lasted this long already. Stiles thought of that commercial with the little black cloud who followed the lady around all the time. Derek looked as if he had a massive black cloud muffling his every thought. 

Stiles also learned that technically ‘aftercare’ could be accomplished without any sort of orgasms at all. He mostly ignored that part. 

By the time Derek finished eating, Stiles came up with a mini plan. First he needed to figure out what happened with Braeden, emotions were important apparently. Second, Stiles needed to figure out what Derek liked. Then, thirdly, Stiles would have to do what Derek liked. After he managed all that, Stiles would have to take care of Derek properly this time.

Stiles had watched a lot of porn in his time, okay. All the porn. He knew what to do, all the things to do, he just didn't know if he could really _do_ any of it with Derek. 

"You realize you're acting weird right?" Stiles asked as he threw his phone on the bed and looked to Derek's face.

"I guess," Derek replied. "I don't know, Stiles. I'm fine. I just don't understand why you're here or why you're hard or . . . I just - I'm fine. Just go away."

"Not likely," drawled Stiles. "I think you might be - do you have like a tendency to - I mean, I think you may be like, dropping or something? Y'know, er, like --"

"Oh. No, I'm not," said Derek, his tone flat. "That doesn't happen anymore. You can go."

"Dude." Stiles glared and gestured at Derek's whole being. "I kinda think you might be."

"I'm fine," Derek said and rolled on to his side away from Stiles. "Just leave."

"You are clearly not fine, you big stubborn asshole!" Stiles flailed a bit and smacked the mattress on either side of his own hips. 

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" Derek asked and Stiles frowned even before Derek continued. "Like fucking my cousin?"

Stiles sputtered. 

"Just leave," Derek said again.

"No," Stiles replied. "I don't have anywhere else to be."

Derek just sighed. 

"How about you?" Stiles spat, growing even more annoyed as Derek continued to lay there facing away from him. "Haven't you got somewhere to be, Derek? Like fucking Braeden somewhere else that isn't here? Some place where nobody has a clue where you fucking are!"

Derek was suddenly coiled tight but, "no," was all he bit out for a moment, then, "are you mad?" he asked.

"A little," Stiles snapped, and had to force himself to shut his mouth and leave it at that. He had a lot more venom in him that needed out, but Stiles figured there was a time for everything.

"Are you really in here to try and fuck me right now, Stiles?" asked Derek, bluntly, and Stiles wondered when exactly he picked up on that if it wasn’t when he’d noticed Stiles’ hard dick. 

"And here I thought Braeden had sucked out what little brain cells you had left through your cock," Stiles said, mostly for lack of anything better.

"Stiles."

"I would if that's what you wanted," Stiles drawled easily, even though that hadn’t been at all what he was thinking.

"What if it's not?"

"Then I'm still not going anywhere until you leave this room and you'll just have to deal with me being painfully aroused right next to you for however long you plan on staying in bed I guess."

"What if you have to pee first?" Derek asked, dead serious.

Stiles snorted, suddenly stupidly happy. "Do you really want me to answer that?"

Derek let out a loud breath. If Stiles wasn't such a pessimist he might have even called it a laugh. "No," answered Derek, and rolled back over to look at Stiles again. "You're still hard," he said casually.

"Actually, hard _again_ if you wanna get technical. Sorry dude," Stiles paused, and Derek looked as if he wanted to say something but was having trouble. “I’m gonna lay down next to you despite the awkwardness, okay? Okay,” Stiles mumbled while he kicked off his shoes, climbed over Derek’s legs, and then laid himself out next him. Derek just looked at him and Stiles stared back because it was the only action that seemed pulsable. “We don’t have to get off at all, either of us, really,” said Stiles after a minute, though the words were scratchy and annoying in his mouth. “As long as you get better. I just thought--my fucked up head--that you’d need it.”

“You’re not fucked up,” was all Derek said in reply. 

Stiles chuckled at the idea. “I thought you knew me better than that,” Stiles then said. For reasons he couldn’t figure out himself, Stiles had thought that if there was one person who might understand how fucked up Stiles was, it’d be Derek Hale. “Clearly, I’m even madder than I knew for thinking such a thing.”

“I know you,” Derek explained with a deep knit between his brows, and he said it like it actually changed the fact that Stiles was mostly insane these days. Though if Derek thought differently then he clearly didn’t know Stiles at all. 

“You don’t,” Stiles pointed out, because though the thought was nice, Stiles knew better. His mind was only his own, nobody knew what it was like to live in his head. Even before life went to shit, nobody knew.

“You don’t know me either,” Derek countered.

“I know,” admitted Stiles, and after a minute he added, “it’s scary, knowing someone.”

“I know,” Derek agreed.

“Should we try it anyway?” Stiles asked.

Derek was quiet for a minute, but his eyes never left Stiles’ face. “We won’t fit together,” he said at last.

“I’m jagged out, you’re jagged in,” Stiles smiled slightly as he spoke, and he willed Derek to see the image in his head. The two of them finally together. All those missing pieces life had torn away from Derek, leaving him sharp, small, and incomplete. All those extra pieces life had stabbed into Stiles, leaving him dangerous, too big for himself, and stuck bursting. Derek could never get those lost pieces back and, Stiles, he couldn’t remove the extra pieces now, not without bleeding out with them. “We’ll fit. You know it,” Stiles added absently, still picturing it. 

“You’re young,” was all Derek replied with, he clearly didn’t see the same thing Stiles did.

Stiles rolled his eyes even as his skin grew hot. “And you’re broken. Point?”

“You’re broken too, that’s my point.”

“Out and in,” Stiles breathed quietly.

Derek blinked and then snorted. 

Stiles smiled fully. "Check for laughing. Now all you gotta do is tell me what happened with Braeden, we can fuck, I'll do you right this time, and you'll be golden once again."

"That easy, huh?" Derek asked and, God, how Stiles had missed that sarcasm. 

"Totally," Stiles agreed. "The hard part will come after that, when you have to get rid of me." 

Derek snorted again.

Stiles let a few moments pass before he said, "tell me."

Derek hesitated, but answered. "She had to leave. She left a note. I understand why. It isn't a big deal."

Stiles resisted pointing out that it clearly was a big deal, and instead he grit out, "she should have made sure you were okay first."

"She didn't have any reason to believe I wouldn't be, Stiles. We weren't in love with each other."

"Yeah well . . . sometimes the kinky stuff requires an extra effort." Derek glared at him like one of the many implications in that sentence had been wrong, though Stiles wasn’t fooled. "I'm serious!" Stiles protested. "I've read all about it."

"I'm sure you have," Derek said, his tone mocking. 

"I have,” Stiles agreed easily. “And I'm sure you’ve tried it out enough for the both of us already."

Derek looked as if he wanted to protest, but he didn’t. "Probably," was all he said.

"It turns me on," Stiles admitted after another tense silence. "Tell me what you like."

"It isn't that simple with me, Stiles. Ever since, well . . . it hasn't ever been simple and it only got worse after . . . you know. The fire."

"Tell me. Please. I’d tell you anything you want to know, big guy."

Derek looked as if he didn’t believe him. Derek always was too vigilant for his own good. Or maybe he really did know Stiles as well as he’d claimed. Either way, Derek began to explain. 

"Well, I don’t know. I was pretty messed up after . . . Paige died, I guess. Then I met Kate and she showed me how to . . . feel better, I guess. As sick as I know it sounds. She would get me to this place where all I could do was want it, after I’d told myself over and over that I could never want anything like that again.” Stiles nodded, noting that Derek had liked his subspace. “I didn't know that she knew I was a wolf. So it worked for me even though I didn’t really understand it at the time - her tying me up and and stuff, I mean. I thought that I couldn't use my strength against her, and it was good like that, knowing that she held that over me, feeling like she would take some of the choices I had to make away from me. After her it was different, what I liked.”

Stiles fought the urge to roll his eyes and managed to not mumble out the ‘obviously’ he’d been thinking. “So you liked it rough and now what?” Stiles asked instead. “Like it soft? Sweet? Need someone to worship you or something? Tell you how perfect you are?”

Derek actually blushed but quickly shook his head. “I mean you would think, but no. Definitely not . . . any of that.”

“Derek.”

“It’s strange. I don’t like saying yes.” Derek wouldn't look at him.

“Um. What?” 

“With Kate I always had to say it. Outloud. I had to be perfect. She’d make me and I’d want it so bad, I’d give in to about anything she wanted to do. I hate that now. Saying yes. Choices.” 

“Hm. I still--”

“It’s all about the choice, Stiles. For me, that is what it has always been about since . . . well, yeah. I’m not going to get off if I feel like I wanted it. I just want it taken care of and done with, really. I don’t know. I’ve never had to explain it like this.”

Stiles shot up quickly as he got what Derek was implying. He would have been halfway across the room if Derek didn’t grab his wrist and keep him on the bed. 

“Stiles,” Derek growled. 

“You were right,” Stiles said. “We won’t fit. I thought - I thought we could but no. I won’t be any good for you, Derek.”

“Maybe I’ll be good for you and that’s all that will matter.”

“No.”

“Stiles--”

“Damn it, Derek! I said no! Now drop it!”

Derek dropped his wrist. Stiles scooted to the furthest edge of the bed, swung his legs over the side, and bent over with his elbows on his knees. 

“I’m not strong enough for that, Derek,” Stiles admitted at last, fingering through his already wild hair. “I’m really not.”

“Nobody’s strong, Stiles,” Derek replied. “Not really. At least you don’t pretend to be something you’re not.”

Stiles let out a hysterical giggle. He was so hard. So ready. Ideas flooding his mind. 

“You know,” Stiles said and looked over his shoulder to Derek’s face. "You really could have said anything else. Literally anything. I was ready to suck on your big toes, Derek!"

"And would that make you happy?" Derek asked. "Sucking on my big toes?"

Stiles looked at his own feet, toes wiggling within worn sneakers. "Er--it wouldn't make me sad."

"Well you'll never suck on my big toes, Stiles."

"Don't," Stiles snapped, eyes like daggers back on Derek’s face. "Don't start that." 

Derek just blinked back at him, like he hadn’t a clue what Stiles meant. 

"Maybe that's what I think you need." Stiles was still sneering over his shoulder, then abruptly turned around as Derek started crawling toward him.

"You don't care about what I need." Derek's voice was close, hot almost. "I always thought so, but I _was_ wrong about you, Stiles. I smelled it sometimes, the way you would think about me. I thought that meant you wanted me on top of you. Inside you. Loving you."

"I didn't." Stiles shook his head, growing soft and uncomfortable under Derek’s admission. Stiles had never even wanted Derek to know that he’d thought about him back sometimes and, as his skin began to itch once more, Stiles realized how terrible of an idea this had been. 

"News flash, Stiles, I never wanted you either," Derek whispered.

"You did," Stiles protested, hot, prickly, and melting all over. "You watched me."

"Because you're weird and you're always talking, I never even thought about you beyond that. I’m not even gay, Stiles."

"Derek."

"What, Stiles?"

Stiles didn't speak, just turned and attempted to tackle Derek back into the bed. He didn't get very far, Derek gave for all of two seconds and then Stiles found himself with his back flat against the mattress, Derek's fingers wrapped around his wrist, and Derek's heavy form holding him in place everywhere else. 

"How did they do it then?" Stiles asked through gritted teeth, trying to ignore the burn of Derek’s grip. 

"Different ways," Derek said. "Most humans had an advantage. They didn't know, and I didn't want them to. Braeden, you, already know."

Derek sat up, rolled off, and pointed toward the dresser. “Bottom drawer,” he instructed, but when Stiles opened it he found that he couldn’t see past the shiny silver firearm.

“No.” Stiles shook his head and made to leave again. Derek was in front of him before he was able to take two steps. “Dude,” Stiles said, rolling his eyes and patting the wolf’s shoulder. “I can’t use that thing. I just . . . it isn’t me, okay? At all. What can I say? I despise the thought of brain matter splattered anywhere in my vicinity, always have. But if you’ll let me, I will so be right back. I have a better idea.”

“You’re not going to run off?” Derek’s eyes were narrowed. 

“Sure,” Stiles rolled his eyes again and slipped by Derek’s tense form. It was a long walk to the Jeep but Stiles found his erection completely renewed when he grabbed the duffle from underneath his seat and unzipped it. Everything was there. 

Deaton was going to kill him. Stiles was sure of this, but it didn’t stop him from grinning gleefully as he entered Derek’s room again. Derek wrinkled his nose at the smell, and made to grab the bag from him just like Stiles had anticipated Derek would. Stiles let him have the bag in favor of quickly slicing him on the wrist with a poisoned blade. 

The effects were rather immediate. 

“What the hell, Stiles?” hissed Derek, as he swayed like a loony wolf and staggered toward the bed. 

“Well . . . you wolves all seem to forget that I’m not actually a supernatural punching bag. We do this, it’s my way, and I have no desire to be your chew toy, Derek.”

“This is going to kill me . . .” Derek pointed out, already sounding like he was dying. Stiles watched him curl up on the bed with a small smile. 

“Actually . . . it isn’t. Not if I give you the antidote that Deaton and I created incase I accidentally stab Scott again with a toy out of my new wolfsbane armoury.” Stiles chuckled to himself as Derek shot him a blank glare. “You see,” Stiles continued, “while you were gone, I was here, working on all kinds of fun things.”

“Stiles,” Derek hissed.

“What?” Stiles asked, picking up the duffel from where Derek had dropped it and coming to stand over the bed. 

Derek just glared at him again. Stiles pinched Derek’s cheek and the beta could only roll away from it. Stiles figured it was about that time. He took some ropes from his bag that he and Deaton had reinforced with mountain ash and the essence of Vilas, but, unlike the blade, Stiles hadn’t had a chance to test them out yet. He was hoping to try with Malia this coming full moon, but even on a normal day Derek was a much better test subject. 

Stiles decided the chance was worth it, and he began stripping Derek down and tying him up. Even with the wolfsbane coursing through his blood, Derek made the task of restraining him nearly impossible. Stiles wrestled with the others huge ass limbs for what seemed like hours before he got each one roped to its respective corner. If the rope worked as it should, Derek wouldn’t be able to break the wood framing the bed, all his strength being confined within the magical boundaries. 

Stiles poured the antidote on Derek’s wound and waited. 

“Damn it, Stiles,” came Derek’s angry voice a few moments later. The ropes must have worked somewhat because it seemed Stiles wasn’t about to get mauled. Though even without all of his super strength, Derek still bent the wood. 

Stiles smiled and started unfastening his own jeans. Derek wasn’t hard. Stiles didn’t like that, but figured Derek probably did, which was weird, but he wasn’t going to say anything about it. Stiles supposed he _had_ imagined Derek’s fascination with him just a little bit. 

Stiles was already over Derek when he realized he’d forgotten lubrication. He supposed he could use spit, but hadn’t Derek said he wasn’t gay? Had he meant like, at all? Or just not for Stiles? 

“You’re a virgin? I mean, like this?” Stiles asked, and the thrashing form beneath him stilled, blinking up at him. Eyes green then gone, then blue and gone, then back nearly as honey brown as his own. 

The thrashing started again without an answer. Stiles sighed and zeroed in on sharp fangs. Looked like he would be using his own spit or no spit. Once Stiles had himself coated he reached between Derek’s legs and shared some of his own wetness with the other. 

Derek kept saying things, like he didn’t want this and stop and no, don’t, Stiles, don’t. 

Stiles didn’t stop. The body beneath him was too tight as he pushed into it. Burning him up and ruining him. Stiles had to stop then, and he noticed one of his hands had wrapped around Derek’s neck, seemingly of its own accord. He kept it there, as it seemed to be keeping Derek quiet. 

Stiles moved, slamming into the form of tight gripping heat below him. Over and over, he kept going. He fucked Derek just as hard as he would fuck Malia. Only Derek wasn’t fucking him back, crying out and scratching and howling, or pushing back into it like Malia would. Derek was silent now, his lips bitten bloody, and squirming away from it as much as he could. 

Stiles soon fell forward, trembling all over, panting and sweating with satisfaction. The whole experience was different than anything he’d ever felt and, for that matter, so was Derek’s ass. It was fucking cutting him, sucking him inside forever. 

The body beneath his was stone and didn’t give anything away, which was why it took him a minute to realize that beyond tightened balls, Derek had grown hard at some point. Stiles squeezed the neck in his grasp and pretended it was Derek’s cock. Derek seemed to think so, too, as the form below writhed and burst, clamping down on Stiles and slicking the space in between them.

\--

When Stiles woke he was in an unfamiliar bedroom. It was sunset, he noticed, which was weird. Then he saw Derek Hale standing in a shadowy corner, glaring right at him. As Stiles smacked the floor memories of the previous few hours came rushing back to him and he squeaked, “Derek!” and righted himself as quickly as possible. 

“Stiles.” Derek was dressed, leaving no evidence. 

“How did you get free?” Stiles wondered out loud. 

“One of my hands came a little loose after so much tugging. It was . . . after.”

Stiles grinned. Derek rolled his eyes. “You still got it, big guy,” Stiles pointed out. 

Derek snorted, then seemed to deflate and, suddenly, he glared again. “I was thinking,” Derek started. “We could go get something to eat. Together, I mean.”

“Where at?” Stiles asked, just curious. Derek clearly became uncomfortable and Stiles tried to sooth him. “I wouldn’t mind going to this diner up the road. Like now. I’m starving. Actually . . .” Stiles trailed off and looked down at himself. “I probably need a new shirt first.”

Stiles followed Derek’s eyes toward his dresser. All of the shirts in it made Stiles look like one of the seven dwarves. 

“You do not,” Derek claimed, and so they went to the diner, Stiles drowning in one of Derek’s shirts. 

They sat at a corner booth, the one Stiles and his mom once sat at, though Stiles didn’t say anything. Derek sat across from him, and they didn’t touch except for their feet, which every so often would brush against each others. After dinner, Stiles made Derek order a milkshake and proceeded to drink all of it, and his own. 

Stiles went home after that, but was at Derek’s loft the next morning, taking Derek again. They went for breakfast afterward at the same diner, they sat at the same booth, and only their feet ever touched. They started most days the same way from then on. 

Maybe Stiles could be good for Derek, after all.


End file.
